


Howling Ghosts — They Reappear

by RivRe



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (very), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, mild PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivRe/pseuds/RivRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>I willingly give my life for Arthur's</i>." Merlin proves himself one final time.</p><p>This is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Major major thanks to Em (edeleweiss), without whom this wouldn't have happened, for the cheerleading, advice, and angsty meta-sessions.  
> Salute to Crystal (fermatas-theorem) for helping me through my Hiddles meltdown, and for the tips.
> 
> Title is from the Of Monsters and Men song, King and Lionheart (what else?).
> 
> Mostly general audiences and relationships. Teen because it's dark, and I want to cover all of the bases for the future. Multi because I ship Merthur too hard to not put it in, even if it will be slow-building.

“Just…just hold me. Please.” Arthur’s breath was getting shallower, but he forced the words out passed the pain in his chest. “There’s something I want to say.”

“You’re going to say goodbye.”

“No, Merlin.” He was feeling light-headed now, his vision swimming. He blinked hard, and Merlin’s face sharpened before him. “Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you helped me build.”

Merlin shook his head. “You’d have done it without me.”

“Maybe.” Arthur struggled for breath. “I want to say something I’ve never said to you before.” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. But he had to get those final words out. Arthur was drifting, slowly floating away from the pain in his chest, the armor weighing heavy on his shoulders, the hard earth beneath him. The only thing keeping him grounded was Merlin, his arms tight around Arthur’s torso, his fingers gripping his arms almost painfully. He had one thing left to do, one thing left to say to the man standing over him, and it was of utmost importance that he fight that floating sensation. He didn’t even know why, but he had one thing to say, and it was the most important thing in the entire universe.

Arthur took a breath, focused.

“Thank you.”

He shut his eyes, and let himself float away. He heard a voice in the distance, calling his name, begging, but he let it fade.

But then there were more sounds, words. He didn’t understand what they meant, but they tugged on him incessantly, trying to drag him back. He fought them off of course, the drifting felt so nice, and he was getting warm. But then the words began to yank at him and he struggled but they pulled him under and he was getting colder and colder and

Arthur’s eyes flew open. Where was he? What happened? He pushed his elbows underneath himself, tried to shift into a sitting position. A pain shot through his chest and something weighed heavy on his stomach. The pain cleared his head and he glanced down to see Merlin lying across him, like he’d tripped and fallen on him.

“Merlin,” he snapped. There was no response, and he gave him a rough push. And then everything came rushing back to him. He pressed a hand to his chest, pushing his fingers through the torn chainmail, but there was only a narrow cut there, clean and shallow. There was dried blood caked around the wound, more than he would expect from such a tiny wound. But then again, that cut had been much, much worse.

In fact, Arthur should be dead.

“Merlin,” he said again, but there was desperation in his voice this time, not annoyance. He rolled over onto his knees and bent over Merlin. He yanked his gloves off, held his fingers against Merlin’s neck. Nothing. Just coldness. “Merlin. Merlin, you lout, wake up.” He fought back tears. “Oh, you idiot. What have you done now?” He brushed the floppy hair off the pale face, felt Merlin’s cheek. Ice cold. He shook his shoulders. Slapped him. Yelled. No response. He even tried flicking him in the ear. When he tugged on Merlin’s eyelid, he caught a glimpse of his eye underneath. The green iris was now a brilliant gold, just like it looked when he’d made the fire, or thrown the attacking  Saxons. Arthur flinched, and Merlin’s eye closed again.

No. He couldn’t be dead. There was just no way. A sob ripped out of Arthur’s chest, making the pain in his stomach flare up again. But it was nowhere near the agony he felt in his heart. Tears poured down Arthur’s face and he pressed his forehead to Merlin’s, begging him to be alive. He whispered the pleas, he shouted them till his throat was raw.

It felt like hours had passed when finally he sat back and stared at the body. “You idiot.” His hoarse voice grated in his ears. “How could you go ahead and do that?” But he could just imagine Merlin, shaking his head and laughing at him, before looking at him with his eyes wide in earnest and his voice deathly serious. _I was born to serve you, Arthur_ , he would say. _And I would readily die for you as well. Arthur_ , and in his mind’s eye Merlin was beginning to tear up, _you are the once and future king of Camelot. And I readily—I_ happily _—give my life for you_.

Arthur wiped his face and stood up slowly. His muscles ached from crouching, and his limbs were heavy like he’d run to Mercia and back. He slipped his arms under Merlin’s armpits, dragged him up. He couldn’t just leave Merlin here. They had been heading for the lake of Avalon before, and Arthur had every intention of reaching it. He grabbed Merlin’s limp, light body and swung him onto his back. He staggered a few steps, and gently put him back down. He would never make it wearing all of his armor. He wrapped his cape around Merlin and dumped all of his mail in the dirt, strapping Excalibur back on after. He picked up Merlin and restarted his trek.

Once again, he didn’t make it very far. He heard flapping wings, and a gust of wind behind him. Arthur swung around, pulling out his sword when he saw the great dragon.

“Be calm, Arthur Pendragon. I have not come to fight you.” Arthur didn’t put away his sword. “I sensed the death of the young warlock.”

“You shouldn’t be alive.” It hurt to speak. “I killed you.”

“Not quite so.” He blinked his gigantic eyes slowly. “The last dragonlord sent me away. And now he is at rest.” He turned slowly, prepared to take off again.

“If you have as much a bond with him as you say,” Arthur swallowed, bracing himself for his next words, “help me take him to the lake.”

The dragon turned to face him more completely. He bent his head, but Arthur didn’t flinch away from his hot breath. “I am not a horse to be ridden, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Please. I know you loathe my family. For Merlin. You said he is the last dragonlord. After he is gone, you will be free forever. Please.”

They flew.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

It only took them a few minutes to reach the lake, and Arthur was relieved to be on solid ground again. The great dragon watched him for a few minutes as he carried Merlin down to the shore. “The last dragonlord is at rest now. This was not how it was meant to be.” He lifted his wings, was about to take off again.

“At rest? He’s not at rest. He’s…” Arthur couldn’t bring himself to say it, but the great dragon settled again. “I can’t lose him. He’s my friend.”

“Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Arthur. Merlin is not just a sorcerer. He is the greatest sorcerer ever to have lived. Take heart, for when Albion’s need is greatest, Merlin will rise again to take his place at your side. For now, the story you have been a part of will live long in the minds of men.”

Arthur was staring at the body before him. He hadn’t understood the dragon’s final words, but one phrase rang true. Merlin was the greatest sorcerer. And the greatest friend. He didn’t notice when the dragon flapped his mighty wings and took off.

There was a boat at the shore. Arthur pinned his cape around Merlin, glad he hadn’t left it behind with his armor. He scooped Merlin up and laid him out gently in the boat, the cape panning behind him and his hands resting calmly on his chest. He ignored the water leaking through his boots as he tugged the boat into the lake. “Merlin,” he whispered. His voice was still raw, and he could imagine Merlin grinning at him, telling him he sounded like a toad. “You were…the worst servant a king could ever hope for. And the best man.”

He gave the boat a push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the first chapter! More coming soon! Thank you so much for reading!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm updating slowly. Don't worry, there's more than this written, but editing is slow going, and I'm really awful at writing long chapters.  
> Hopefully I'm fall into a better rhythm. Thank you for putting up with me!

Arthur had almost tossed his sword into the lake after Merlin. Morgana was dead now, and he couldn’t imagine Excalibur being of much use. But when a patrol of Saxons caught up to him, tired, injured, and nearly defenseless, he was glad for the sword. There were three of them, and Arthur doubted he would have been able to defeat them without the magic blade lending him skill.

It took him four days to stumble back towards Camelot. He came across another patrol, hid from three more, and took a wrong turn, bringing him face-to-face with a sheer cliff face.

He hadn’t eaten. Barely been able to sleep from the pain and the fear and the thoughts crowding his mind when he shut his eyes. He’d had a few sips from a stream, once, but sounds of soldiers made him run.

Couple that with his wounds, and Arthur should be dead by now.

When a group of Camelot knights found him, Arthur had been moments away from collapsing, even with the distant spires of the castle beckoning him in the distance.

“Arthur.” His eyes were drifting shut. But the voice was familiar, tickling his mind and nudging it awake.

“Arthur.” Again. He forced his eyes to open, and a blurry form was running towards him. He blinked a few times, and Gwaine took shape in front of him, sliding into focus. He was gripped in a bear hug, and his body sagged forward into it.

“Cedric,” he shouted. Arthur struggled to stay upright and alert. “Bring my horse over here. Find some food, water, anything.” He slowly lowered Arthur to the ground, and his eyes caught sight of the wound, getting red and oozy. “Hey, hey, stay awake. Don’t fall asleep on me, Arthur, I can’t have bored you yet.” He spoke quieter, but with just as much force, even giving Arthur a gentle slap. Sir Cedric ran up, holding everything he’d pulled from the saddlebags. “Sorry about this, my lord.” Gwaine uncapped his water bottle and splashed it in Arthur’s face, sufficiently rousing him. “Good, now drink.”

Apparently Gwaine was more competent with the sick that Arthur had realized because he forced him to drink and eat slowly, carefully spilling some water on the dirty wound. Later, he confessed he’d learned it all after getting dehydrated in the tavern too many times, and taking care of himself the morning after. There was also the occasional nasty brawl.

When he judged Arthur fed and watered enough, Gwaine helped him onto his horse, climbing up behind him. “Don’t get too excited, Princess,” he muttered in Arthur’s ear as he reached around him, grabbing the reins. “Sorry, you’re not my type.” Arthur didn’t smile.

They were about to ride off when—

“Where’s Merlin?” Gwaine stiffened. “Gaius said he was with you. What…” He trailed off. There was nothing more to say. Nothing he didn’t already know.

The patrol rode like the wind back to Camelot.

One of the knights had gone ahead, to inform the queen and Gaius, who waited anxiously in front of the palace for the patrol. When they rode into the courtyard, knights were already standing around, waiting to help. One grabbed Gwaine’s reins, another helped him lower the semi-conscious Arthur, and two more helped carry him up to his rooms, Gwen and Gaius following closely.

\---

His wound had developed a very non-magical infection. Arthur was in bed for four days, sleeping fitfully. When awake, he obediently swallowed the herbs Gaius brought him. When asleep, he fought fever dreams and voices whispering in his ear, calling out often.

On the fourth day, Arthur woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in bed. He ignored the shooting pain in his stomach as everything came rushing back to him. He blinked a few times, and glanced around his room, head finally clear for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“Sire!” That was the relieved sigh of Percival, vaulting from his seat beside Arthur’s bedside.

“Percival.” Arthur wanted to smile, he really did. The knight reached over and handed him a goblet of water, which Arthur graciously accepted. He found himself actually amused, though, when Percival reached passed him and attempted to prop up some pillows for him, failing utterly. “You know, bedside manner doesn’t quite suit you, Percival.” His voice was still rough and sore, but the knight managed a bashful grin.

“Her majesty placed us on rotation, Sire, to watch for any changes.” He spoke as he walked to the door, and poked his head out, conveying a message to one of the guards outside. Arthur heard the hurried stamp of booted feet rushing off, and Percival came back. He looked nervous, out of place beside the sick king, searching for something to do besides for fix the pillows. When he spotted the empty goblet, he fetched it in a hurry. “Gaius said not to give you too much at a time, Sire. You’re meant to drink slowly.” Instead, he brought over a small dish of grapes from Arthur’s table, offering those instead.

Guinevere and Gaius rushed in a moment later, Leon right behind them. “Arthur.” Gwen looked almost in tears as she scooped up her dresses and took a seat beside him. “I’m so glad to see you up.”

Her cool hand rested on Arthur’s cheek, and he let himself sag into her, blue eyes holding her brown ones. “I’ve pulled you out of court,” he said by way of greeting, taking in her crown and long dress.

“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t nearly as important as your health.” She glanced at Gaius, then.

“I’m glad to see you doing better, Sire. I will require another inspection of the wound, but I do believe you have fought off the infection quite well.”

“Yes, thank you, Gaius. I think I remember you forcing me to swallow some foul tasting herbs.” He shifted so he was sitting up straight, ignoring the pain, and glanced around the room. Percival had his back to him, and Leon was giving him some quiet instructions, his eyes on Arthur. Gaius was standing at the foot of the bed holding some more herbs. The room felt empty.

Percival left, and the senior knight approached Arthur’s bedside. “Sire,” he greeted.

“Leon.” His voice cracked on the second syllable, and he took a drink. “I trust you’ve been taking good enough care of Camelot?”

He nodded. “The Saxons are all but gone, Sire.”

“Good.” He was scared to ask the next question, but he must. “Camlann?”

Leon’s face darkened. “We incurred heavy losses, Sire.”

Gwen squeezed his hand, attracting his attention. “Morgana attacked Percival and Gwaine.” She hesitated. “She killed Gwaine.”

Mourning was quickly replaced with confusion. “Gwaine? But he’s the one who found me.”

She shared a quick glance with Gaius, who responded. “Impossible, Sire. I’m sorry, it must have been a hallucination. You were dehydrated and delirious when Cedric’s patrol found you.”

He lowered his head, focusing on his and Guinevere’s joint hands.

“Sire?” He lifted his head slowly. Leon was clenching and unclenching his fists, a nervous tick of his. He was going to say something else, but out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw Gwen give him a sharp look, and he stopped. “A patrol should be returning soon. I should go collect their reports.” Arthur nodded, and he fled the room.

“Arthur?” He looked at Gwen. She took both of his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry.” He nodded slowly.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> (Author confession: I kinda forgot Gwaine was dead for a few minutes. Whoops. Not very professional of me, right?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the sporatic updating. Here, have two new chapters. :) I hope you enjoy!!

Arthur’s mouth was dry. It was a chilly day, and the wind cut through his cape, snaking beneath the chain mail to bite at his skin. His crown weighed on his head, his sword dragging him down. He could easily slide right off the balcony, into the waiting crowds. He felt heavy enough.

Gwen’s hand inched over, rested on top of his to give it a gentle squeeze. Her fingers were warm through his glove. “My father,” he began. The crowd below fell silent, eyes turned up to their king. He had returned to Camelot two weeks ago and, although he spent most of his time bed-ridden and gulped down all of the oils and honeys Gaius had given him, his voice still cracked. When Gaius warned him not to speak too much, Arthur could hear Merlin laughing in his mind, grinning like an idiot and prattling on about how those would be difficult instructions to follow.

“He was well-known for his hatred and persecution of magic. It was a reasonable belief, during those dark times.” He was lying now. He didn’t really believe anymore that his father’s loathing of sorcery could in any way qualify as “reasonable,” but he couldn’t say that to the people. “You have probably heard rumors, whispers from those who survived the Battle of Camlann. They will tell you that a sorcerer, an old man, saved us from the Saxons.” He could feel the crowd holding its breath; everyone was terrified of what may come of them all, just for listening, believing. He wished they didn’t fear him, wished they believed that he was a just king, too fair for that. But his father’s reign still echoed in their ears.

“The rumors are true. A sorcerer saved Camelot’s knights, and he also saved my life.” Swallow. Deep breath. He had to be strong. Camelot could not have a weak king. “My father believed that all magic was evil. But times have changed. Magic is a powerful force, one that can be used to benefit Camelot and to destroy it. With that in mind, I am issuing a new decree.” He licked his dry lips, carefully slid his hand out from under Guinevere’s. Leon stepped forward and handed him the scroll, carefully rolled up and sealed with the Pendragon sigil. Arthur held it up, waved it for everyone to see, drawing out the silence before he had to strain again.

He could not crack in front of his people.

“The ban on sorcery within the kingdom of Camelot is hereby lifted. The practice of magic is no longer prohibited, and persecution of witches and wizards will be ceased. Any magic-users imprisoned throughout the kingdom who are guilty of no other crimes are hereby abdicated. Magic is a tool like any other, and it need not be hidden as a shameful thing.” He stopped and took a step away from the balcony, letting out the sigh he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The entire square was silent for a moment, and then the people erupted in cheers.

They may not have been sorcerers, but for them it still meant freedom; freedom from oppression, from fear of people peaking through their windows, from false accusations.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks were in no way easy. Arthur required every man, woman, and child capable of doing magic come to the city. He offered reimbursements for any time taken away from duties, but each and every person declined, instead falling at his feet in thanks. He promised it would not continue in the future, but for the sake of the country’s safety, every magic-user alive at the time of the new decree had to be registered, no matter how young or old.

There was also the matter of sorting through every single case where someone was accused of magic use. Some people were jailed over harmless things, like playing pranks and cleaning their laundry with magic. When he first heard that one, he had had to excuse himself for a few minutes, because he’d worked Merlin like a dog, he now realized, and there was no way he’d accomplished everything _without_ magically scrubbing his boots, and knowing this Arthur realized how blind he was and how obvious the idiot had been.

Unfortunately, there were other cases as well. Most notably, people had used their gifts to pickpocket or cheat at dice, something else that Arthur was now confident Merlin had done. Arthur had to decide how to punish such things now, if abusing their abilities made them more punishable, or if he should dole out the same penalty as he would to regular thieves. There was even a sticky case of murder, where the victim had threatened to publicize his killer’s magic—was it self defense? There was an arson, someone who caused their enemy to trip and break and arm, a gold forger, and the list went on. And some, of course, had been falsely accused and couldn’t do even a tiny bit of magic.

Guinevere wasn’t even present for much of it. Arthur had put her in charge of managing the rest of the kingdom, all of the simple, normal things. This was his mess, he insisted. This was his best friend, was what he didn’t say.

Leon, too, had been sent to oversee the gates and the security of the city. With all of the magic users flooding in, traffic in and out of Camelot had increased greatly, and it was busier than it had been in a long time.

He was in bed late every night, up early every morning. He took almost all his suppers and breakfasts alone in his room, eating quickly to return to the flocks of people. His lunches, too, he took with councilmen and knights. The only time he gave himself permission to step away was to take the potions Gaius had prepared for his throat. He could not show illness, only strength.

Arthur wasn’t sure what part was the worst. The magic users that weren’t Merlin, no matter how much he wished it. Or the new manservant.

Yes, George was back.

He didn’t want anyone new, and Guinevere respected his wishes for a few days. He managed to dress himself for court, and various servants brought him his meals and cleaned his clothes. But Gwen laughed at him more than once when his shirt was on inside-out, or his belt was twisted. And finally, gently, when they had a moment of peace and he visited her chambers to share dinner with her, she told him he was useless and needed a new manservant.

No more curtain thrown wide to blind him, accompanied by an overly cheerful “up and at ‘em, lazy daisy.” No more getting tackled and having food shoved in his sleep-dry mouth. One day, there was a harsh rap on the door, and George, ordinary George, stepping carefully over to the table and calling out sharply, primly, for his sire to arise and attend to the pressing matters at hand. Arthur almost threw a vase at him.

As he dragged himself out of bed, ignoring George’s attempts to assist him, the urge to break something didn’t abate. George offered him a damp cloth to wipe his face and, after a brief appraisal, Arthur took it. He dropped it on the table on his way to the window, pulling the curtains wide. The sun was only just beginning to come up, and Arthur leaned his forehead against the cool glass. George offered him a goblet, and Arthur took a long drink before speaking, voice cracking.

“How long have you been up for?”

George had drawn his chair back from the table, and was rearranging some documents beside his plate. Arthur watched in the reflection of the glass. “Nearly an hour, Sire. I spot-cleansed all of your court clothes and shined your boots in the interim, and fetched your breakfast. I hope that is adequate.”

“Perfectly.” Arthur took another sip. His throat hurt.

“I hope I did not wake you too early, Sire. I was informed that you will have a tight schedule to keep to over the next few weeks, dealing with the abominations and such.”

Arthur stiffened, turned around. “What did you just say?”

“You have to deal with court duties, and such, correct, Sire?”

He didn’t seem nearly as scared as he should have, with Arthur approaching so steadily. The king didn’t stop until he was nose-to-nose with George, trapping him against the table. The servant’s eyes went wide, and Arthur was glad to see that he was shorter than Arthur, even when barefoot. “That could constitute as treason, do you understand me?” He didn’t take his eyes off him. “A sorcerer saved my life, more than once, and now you are trying to undermine that?” George looked like he was about to speak, but Arthur didn’t let him. “Furthermore, are you questioning my judgments? I say that sorcery shall be permitted and you have the nerve to go ahead and call it an abomination?”

He turned around before George could reply, returning to his spot by the window. “Leave me.” George didn’t move. “I said get out.” He fled.

Arthur sagged against the window.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that so much time has passed since I last updated! My life has been really hectic, and I've spent a large portion of the last several weeks either sick or too busy to sit down at my computer for more than five minutes. (The fact that I'm here right now is pretty crazy. I'm kind of avoiding a lot of work at the moment. Oops.)
> 
> Here's a long(-ish?) chapter for y'all before I head off to sleep. I really really hope to update pretty soon. (I also haven't done any writing, so that bit of reprieve-from-life is missing.) If you want to, anyone and everyone is welcome to email me (rivrewrites at gmail) to nag me for more, maybe that push will force some more frequent updates out of me.
> 
> In the meantime, happy reading! I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to comment!!

He was supposed to have a meeting with the round table today, but Percival had taken out a patrol after receiving word of Saxons still in the area, and Leon had a training session with some new knights. Even Gaius was busy, after a surprised knight had turned on a practicing sorcerer.

So Arthur had gone wandering, anything to avoid getting spotted by George, and he found himself observing the sorcerers as they were evaluated and listed in the records. There was a long line in the chamber, three tables at the end. A scribe, an official, and two trusted knights who had admitted some knowledge of sorcery sat at each table. In addition, after Arthur sent word to the druid chieftain Iseldir, several druids had come to assist as well.

He was standing in the entrance to the hall. No one noticed at first, all caught up in the long wait, and the new-found freedom. Balls of light were popping into existence, flowers and strawberries and horses made of fire. When someone saw him, a hush fell over the crowd. Most of them bowed their heads, some even falling to their knees or prostrating themselves. Arthur was astounded at the sheer number, and at the age. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but very few of the sorcerers were older than him, and those that were looked pale, haggard, and still terrified.

An old man limped up, and fell to his knees in front of Arthur. He made to kiss his boot, but Arthur stepped back and pulled him to his feet. “Sire,” the old man wheezed. “Thank you, Sire. May the goddess give you strength and good harvest, and comfort among your friends.” He was weeping, and Arthur squeezed his arm, taking care not to hurt his fragile bones. He wanted to say something, but his throat was sore again.

When the old man drew up, bowing low and limping back to his place in line, Arthur took a swig from the water skin clipped to his belt. He’d dressed himself again today, and didn’t think he’d forgotten anything.

There was a long table of food set up against the wall, and Arthur went to inspect it, ensure they were being fed satisfactorily. About two dozen people were mingling beside it, snacking on fruit and chatting.

“I know you.”

A young man, maybe a little younger than Arthur himself, looked up with a mouth stuffed full of grapes. It took him a moment to realize who was in front of him, even with the crown and cape, and he hurriedly bowed low, quickly swallowing everything in his mouth. “Sire.”

“You look familiar. What’s your name? Have you come to Camelot before?”

“Yes, Sire.” He paused a moment. “Oh. Gilli. My name is Gilli. I participated in the Decennial Tournament.”

“Right.” Arthur studied him, and Gilli shifted in discomfort. “I remember now.” He didn’t mention the obvious, and Gilli nervously twisted the ring on his finger.

“I was a friend of Merlin’s.” He flinched at the name. He hadn’t heard it spoken out loud in weeks, no one had dared ask him about it. “I went looking for him, but he hasn’t been around.”

“No.” The strain in Arthur’s voice had nothing to do with his injured vocal cords this time. “He hasn’t. And he won’t be.”

Gilli’s face clouded with confusion. “Did he go back to Ealdor?”

Arthur licked his lips, looked down at his boots and up at the rafters. “No.” He must not have hidden the pain in his eyes as much as he hoped, because Gilli sagged against the table as his face fell, understanding striking him.

“What…” he hesitated, “what happened?”

“He saved my life.” It was the first time Arthur said anything about what had happened. He had left it to everyone’s best guesses, but somehow, for some reason, it felt much easier to talk to this stranger, who only barely knew Merlin.

Who knew everything about Merlin that Arthur didn’t. All of the holes in Arthur’s understanding were filled by Gilli’s.

“I was dying. And he saved my life.” Arthur’s voice cracked on the last word. He needed a drink. He didn’t take one.

Gilli glanced around the room, clearly unsure of what to say. “He would be proud. Of this. Of you.” He caught Arthur’s eye. “This is what he was dreaming of, a Camelot where magic users can practice freely, without fear. He had so much faith in you, Arthur.” His neck colored a bit when he realized he’d been disrespectful, addressing the king by his first name. “He knew that one day you would understand, and make the kingdom fair for all. He would be happy. And so proud.”

Arthur didn’t respond for a minute, watching the room. Finally, he faced him again. “Thank you, Gilli.”

The sorcerer shook his head. “Thank you.” He dipped his head and returned to his position in line, leaving Arthur watching the proceedings. After a short while, he made his way to the front of the line, and positioned himself by the closest table. A sorcerer had just been given a sealed certificate confirming that he had come before the king. The man bowed low to Arthur, thanking him profusely, before leaving to prepare for the long journey home.

“Sire.” Cedric, one of the guards on duty there, saluted. He was standing obediently beside the table, scanning the people waiting in front of him. The other knight, Arnold, was seated, but looked just as tense as he jumped from his seat. The official and the scribe were so involved in finishing filling out the forms that it took them a moment to realize the king was there. When they did, they jumped from their seats.

Slowest to rise was a young woman, the druid. She did not bow to Arthur, and he hadn’t expected her to. “My lady.” The other two druids were older men, and he knew there must be something special about her if Iseldir would send her with them. He had had a meeting with the other two druids to confer about the evaluations, but she had been notably absent. “I do not believe I have had the honor to properly introduce myself. I am King Arthur Pendragon.”

“I know who you are.” She was looking at the empty spot beside him, at the presence that wasn’t there but should have been. “You are the one that Emrys defied destiny for. It should be he who stands here, not you.”

“I know.” There was a pang in his chest, but he tried to hold it together.

“There is a bond between you and him, Arthur Pendragon. Your souls are connected, your destinies intertwined, and that is the only way Emrys was able to change the future. He did it for you, Arthur Pendragon.”

“I know.” He felt humbled and ashamed in front of this girl, and he didn’t even know her name, or how her words managed to affect him so. He could see the edge of her druid mark on her neck, peeking out from beneath her simple brown shirt. She’d tied up her long, auburn hair, making no move to hide the symbol.

“I am Kell. I am a seer among the druids.” She reached out to him, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Cedric reach for his sword, but a gesture stopped him. Kell placed her palm against his jaw, moving it down to his sore neck. It took everything in him not to flinch away as she stroked his throat. Her eyes turned golden, and he felt the pain ebb. “A small token of thanks, Arthur Pendragon.” She took a step closer, so that they were almost chest-to-chest, and stretched up on her toes. He bent his head a fraction, and could feel her hot breath on his ear. “You will see him again, Arthur Pendragon. Have no fear, for Emrys’s place is by your side, and he will return there again.”

“But when?” He choked out the words, even though his throat was feeling fractionally better.

Kell lowered herself flat onto her feet again. Her eyes looked old and sorrowful. She gave his cheek a slow pat, and resumed her place at the table. Everyone around, scholars and sorcerers alike, were staring at him.

Arthur excused himself, heading straight back to his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to comment! (Kudos are great too...no pressure or anything. :D)


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